


To you, my trust, my closeness, my care.

by billielurked



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, bruce and thor are too cute and im starving for content here, here we go ;), honestly this ones for the touch starved gays out there, i rarely see fic from bruce's point of view so uh, im gay and im god, theyre both trans because i decreed it so!, thorbruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 14:56:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15560271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billielurked/pseuds/billielurked
Summary: Bruce can barely recall the last time he’d been touched so sweetly, so thoroughly, or with such kind contentment. Thor's hands brush further up and nestle against his cheeks, caress soft and reassuring, fingertips slipping back and upwards to comb and lightly rub through his hair. He leans in close, voice low as it is kind. “Is this alright?”Neither Thor nor Bruce have often had people around to support or offer them comfort in the aftermath of their struggles-- it's good to find this trust in one another.





	To you, my trust, my closeness, my care.

**Author's Note:**

> hey MTV welcome to my crib. i've never written fic before so here goes my reputation

He’s shaking. Everything is; the floor, the walls, his hands, his heart. Everything feels jittery, off-kilter, on the edge of tipping over and giving into that hot green anger bubbling at the back of his mind. The world quickly becomes too much as his eyes fly wide open, a roar torn from his sleep-rough throat. Something shifts nearby. Wasn’t he alone in this room? Did he yell _that_ loud? It’s so dark.

“Hey--- Banner, Banner, the sun is real low. It’s getting--”

Oh, fuck, not this again.

Thor starts rattling off in his panicked attempt to calm him. The panic starts in his throat, green veins protruding, flashing in and away from sight. The sun is, in fact, not even out, and nowhere near rising. 4am, reads the clock. ( _He does wish it were. Late night anxiety attacks aren’t part of the recipe for a good night’s sleep_.) He tries to think of anything but the dream. Was there a sun on Sakaar, back when Thor gave him this treatment the first time? Or maybe there were two. No, it was just a really big, flaming hole in the sky. A really big **_Anus_**. Wow. That was pretty amazing. And nerve-wracking, and frightening, fucking weird, etcetera. Absolutely nothing about Thor’s repetitive, forceful mantra of **_nonsense_** is really getting through to him……except maybe his voice itself. The god of thunders’ voice was always was pretty calming. Bruce should ask him about the origin of that accent sometime.

(What? He likes linguistics.)

He gasps out a warped response. “I get it, I get it, the sun or whatever, please just—please just shut up--” Banner’s desperate attempts to regain control of himself are really not working. His heart pounds to the quick sequence of bad memories his regrettable nightmare resurfaced. The relief of being no one, nowhere, at the price of whatever destruction the hulk may bring, is almost irresistible. ( _Bruce you’re being stupid you’re –_ ). If he doesn’t watch out he’ll really start rocking back and forth here.

Waking up confused and lost after a gruesome nightmare is hard. It’s like waking up in a hotel, bleary-eyed and bleak, panicking because the bed is in a different position than the one at home and _oh god, where am i, oh yeah that’s right i’m in a hotel 6._ Except it’s not a hotel 6 and it most definitely wasn’t a **restful** nap. It was a two year gladiatorial space escapade full of murder, smashing, and that weird man with the flip flops, closely followed by a gruesome series of Titan related events and at several million part-time deaths that hit quite close to home. Some time travel, too. Yeah. And then it was all over. Not a fun time. His hands ache as they fluctuate muscle mass, twitching desperately between his two forms.

All of a sudden Thor’s big hand plants itself down on his shoulder. Another lands on his chest, pulling him closer, up off the bed and into a sitting position, slumped over and huffing. He’s grounded, snapping to attention, pillow held in his crushing grip. He’s ripped a hole in the fabric, feathers poured everywhere-- Bruce looks around, wide-eyed and lost. Thor doesn’t say a word. The lamp on the side table is switched on at some point. Maybe he’s learning. The god’s big, broad hand rubs calming circles across the surface of his back as the time passes by. He’s not quite sure just how long that is—the dissociative episode rolls over him like a wave, finally slipping away once he’s done counting all the cracks in the tile floor that he can find. Bruce just smiles weakly, registering the reassurance; Thor doesn’t move away, and Bruce doesn’t want nor ask him to.

He gently pats the god’s arm, resolute yet grateful. Yeah. He really, really likes having Thor around. “Thank you, Thor.”

The man in question doesn’t say a word, seemingly having chosen comfortable silence over desperate repetition. Slowly they stand and together, make their way towards the bathroom. The door stays open, Thor leaning one bulky shoulder against it as he watches Bruce return to his routine. Cold water splashes on his face, running a bit longer than usual. He combs a hand through his hair, brushes his teeth, tends to himself as he would were this the start of a normal morning, not a pitch black 4am wakeup call brought up by night terrors. Because _normality_ , that’s what Bruce needs, right? Again, it grounds him, calls him back to his body and settles his peace of mind to do something besides sit there in stillness. It’s with a sigh of finality that he presses his palms to his cheeks and turns, running them down his neck to look over at his friend. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” Thor says, seemingly taken aback.

“Yeah, you. There’s nobody else around. It’s…really late.” The god just looks quizzically at him. “It can be a little scary seeing someone break down like that….not that you haven’t seen me like that a dozen times.”

“Ah. No, my friend, such reactions are—only human.” The phrase fits into his mouth in a silly way. He shifts to cross his arms. “I’ve lived too long not to have witnessed one or another in such a state. It’s not a problem, really. I…want to help you.”

Bruce pauses to think. Thor is a fast learner—exceptionally considerate. He also seems to be among the few amicable and patient enough to actually try to calm the Other Guy rather than to threaten, suppress, or flee, as shoddy of a job as he does at it. Only proving his perceptiveness, Thor almost seems sheepish, scratching unsurely at the back of his neck. Bruce tries to collect his thoughts. “Do you think— it’s not really a **_problem_** for me, necessarily, but it doesn’t help, sometimes it actually stresses me out a bit more than before—do you think you could stop with the ‘ _sun is going down_ ’ shtick? When I’m freaking out.”

“Certainly! Of course, I simply found myself at a loss for what else to say. I’d assumed it to be the most reliable course of action, seeing as it worked quite well previously.”

“It was just one time, and pretty soon after I rocketed myself out of the stratosphere.” Bruce starts to make his way towards the kitchen, his companion trailing behind. A midnight snack could help settle his nausea. He doubts Thor would ever have anything to say against a snack.

“Touché.” Again—anything but old English sounds silly coming from him, but his accent is flawless. Again—Bruce just likes linguistics! “How would you recommend I go about helping you during…future episodes?”

Well, that one’s actually a little harder for him to think of. Since when has Bruce had any kind of support system? Anyone to lean on besides himself to avoid transformation? Maybe Betty, Tony. Valkyrie is someone he considers to be his very best friend, but she’s rarely done much to prevent him changing in either direction- she loves both Bruce and Hulk as they are. The list is short, but his list of friends does tend to work that way. He sidles up to the cabinet and starts pouring some cereal into his bowl. He gestures, gets a nod, and pours Thor one too. Cool. Nothing like Fruit Loops with Asgardian royalty. “I guess I don’t really like repetitive stuff. That phrase doesn’t make any sense, either—if it was something like, ‘ _You’re okay’_ , or ‘ _I’m here_ ’, ‘ _You’re safe_ ’, something along those lines, it’d probably help more. And ….”

Thor is looking at him so expectantly. Spoon in hand, dangling freely, obviously restraining himself in order to be polite. Bruce pointedly takes a bite. Thor follows suit, scarfing his serving down. “I guess physical contact is nice. Um-” He feels more nervous admitting this bit. Silly, right? He blushes and forces himself onwards. “A pat on the arm, or a hug, definitely a hug, a hand on my face, uhm-”

Suddenly, Bruce’s hand is wrapped up in Thor’s much bigger palms, clasped warm and secure around his own. The other is taken in hand as well, held close and comfortable. The scientist blinks. “Like this?” Thor says, drawing a small circle on his hand. And god, if that isn’t tooth-achingly sweet. Bruce, anxious as ever, resists the urge to sink into the touch and twitches away with a frantic nod, quickly busying his hands with the empty cereal bowls. They clank and clatter into the sink, haphazardly cleaned and abandoned just as quickly as they’d been retrieved. “Yeah,” The man coughs, and moves to sit up on the opposing countertop. He crosses and uncrosses his legs. “But—that’s how I’d recommend you help me. If you want to.”

“I’ll do my best. I admit, my experience is limited when it comes to soothing others. I more frequently found myself fighting off the beasts which caused individuals such distress, not—ah, offering the victims my condolences or comfort. It is... _high time_ I learned, yeah. I barely know how to take care of myself, much less those I care for.”

Bruce pointedly ignores the tail end of that sentence, fighting off the heat in his face. He knows a lot about taking care of himself. Meditation, medication, education, hiding, running, trying new things, getting stuck in old routines, seeking help, helping himself – he’s tried it all. Been there, done that, twice over. Sometimes, the repetition just as well as the unfamiliarity of his attempts have driven him almost to the point of giving up. And maybe he’s _not_ better for it, maybe he won’t ever be, but Bruce Banner is nothing if not knowledgeable on different methods of self care. Buy a bath bomb, get a therapist, set some shit on fire. There’s a lot of options, and he’s more than willing to sit down with Thor and go through the list. Hell, he’ll brainstorm new ones.  The god evidently wasn’t very good at self-care, not if his depressive episodes and tendency to throw himself into violent distraction in the face of grief were anything to go off of. “I appreciate it. And I’d be glad to help you. Don’t even worry about it – I’m an expert. You have a lot of friends—you don’t have to do anything alone, you know.”

The conversation having turned around seems to have taken Thor off guard. “And how would you recommend I go about caring for myself, then?”

“You could talk to someone about your problems. Me. A therapist. Val. You’ve got a messy past, with a lot of childhood stabbing, lots of—war and trauma and brutality, you know. It can’t be good.”

Thor takes it in stride, shrugging. He’s quite aware of his issues.

“And I’m always around. To help.”

“How?”

“To distract you, or to talk, like this. Even Hulk’s around every once in a while if you need somebody to throw around a little, or to be thrown around by.” Thor breaks into laughter at that, uproarious and cheery as ever—god, that really is an enchanting laugh, huh? His smile shines, vibrant, striking Bruce right in the chest. He can’t help but return the expression. “Yeah! Or if you just need something simple, like help learning something about Earth, or, like, a hug or something.”

A beat. “You mention often that you would value more physical contact between us, but you rarely engage in such, or respond positively when I initiate it, you know. It’s a little _weird_.”

Well, he’s got him there.

“I’m just not used to it, I guess.” He shifts uneasily. He’s used to isolation. How many hours had Bruce spent in the simple pursuit of avoiding other people, avoiding physical touch, anger, excitement, passion, any emotion too extreme? Too many to count, much less remember. So much time completely wasted. His heart beats a little faster as Thor stands up from his seat. “But I wouldn’t mind if we—ah, _engaged in a little physical contact_ right now.”

Thor’s unwavering smile is a bit overwhelming, and the pink of his lips stands out in his mind. Bruce wonders if they feel as soft as they look. He feels a little dizzy, both at his own boldness and the implication of that expression.

And then—Thor stands between Bruce’s legs, propped up on the counter as he is, and envelops him in an embrace. _A hug? Right now?_ It’s all a bit much, and Bruce keeps getting hit by these exceptionally sweet and thoughtful curveballs here. Like some kind of massive puppy, Thor rubs the whole side of his face against his own, gentle and slow, hands sliding up his arms and against his neck. They brush further up and nestle against his cheeks, caress soft and reassuring, fingertips slipping back and upwards to comb and lightly rub through his hair. Thor leans in close, voice low as it is kind. “Is this alright?”

Bruce can barely recall the last time he’d been touched so sweetly, so thoroughly, or with such kind contentment. He hums and nods-- breathes into the embrace, pressing his face just beneath Thor’s jaw as his head is so soothingly massaged. And he doesn’t stop there. Thor slowly eases him back, each inch of increased distance accompanied by a hand sliding down to cup beneath the sides of his jaw. Then he leans in from his imposing height, _oh my god_ , and presses the gentlest of kisses to his forehead.

Bruce is stunned.                                    

Another follows only seconds later, planted on the bridge of his nose. Another to the tip. One to each brow, each eyelid, soft and feather-light, to the cheeks, the jawline, preceding the ear, to the scruff of his chin, to the palms of his hands, to his wrists, and finally, he asks; “May I?”

“Yes,” Bruce says, breathless, and before even giving him the chance to actually follow through, takes initiative himself. A searing kiss is planted on Thor’s lips, imbued with all the passion and the excitement and surprise of a man who hasn’t let himself feel such things in countless years. All the while Thor’s hands roam and brush and press, reducing Bruce to a mess of quiet breaths and little gasps of surprise as the process goes on. The space between them feels so hot, he feels as though he’s on fire, and loving every second of it. He can feel the smile on Thor’s lips, blinks to see the happy crinkle of his eye, his long lashes fluttering with every move, brushing against his own. He’s been pulled closer without having noticed, their bodies flush together, his legs locked around the broader man’s waist. He couldn’t feel safer, really. Oh, this is really gay. Really _really_ gay. ( _Not that that’s a bad thing. Bruce is gay. That’s great.)_

Bruce wouldn’t quite say the entire space experience was pleasant – lots of forced change, two whole years of confinement within his alter ego, a lot of yelling, a lot of stress. A planet or two going up in flames. Intergalactic travel. Talking raccoon. ( _Things that would’ve made the Bruce Banner of three years ago quite literally sprint the opposite direction_.) But if it got him this one moment, it was all worth it. All of it. Still, what comes as the most shocking of all is the way Thor looks at him—this ancient god, so humbled and seemingly so flattered to be gifted his attentions. This registers with him and he scrambles to address it before the moment slips by. Two hands ‘round the god’s stubbled jaw, he speaks clear as day; “I really, really care about you, Thor.”

It takes a moment. Has he said the wrong thing? Scared him off? Was this crossing the line from physical to emotional intimacy too quickly? His heart rate picks up, but not painfully so, his steadfast hope steering him in the direction of confidence. Thor’s good eye blinks in wide-eyed surprise, delight, evidently trying to read his companions expression as well. They’re both terrible. “I…” He clears his throat. “I didn’t want to presume, or…expect, demand, anything of you. I’m—I’m glad to have—ah. I’ve cared about you for a very long time, too. _Bruce_. You and all parts of you.”

The fit of giddy delight begins in that moment, flipped like a switch as their laughter mingles in the small space between them. They grasp and they pull one another in, tugging and pulling, all smiles, all humbled delight, surprise, joy and touch coming as light and easily to them as air, falling back against the wall—and Bruce’s head thunks painfully against the wall behind him, only making Thor both more humored and more concerned.

Bruce whispers through the laughter; “You’re my best friend.”

“As you are mine.”


End file.
